No Surprises
by harponMOO
Summary: Life gave you no promise of love, adventure, excitement. Life only guaranteed death.  Arthur Kirkland with depression AU based off the song by Radiohead


**No Surprises**

Human AU

_1.) A heart thats filled up like a landfill _

Arthur smiled, a sickening sweet smile, and tried not to laugh.

How sad it all was, the kids gossiping.

Who got the _worst_ haircut? Is she pregnant? Words thickly laced with malice and contempt.

The popular cliques and the dorks they loved to overlook with haughty smirks.

Kids getting pushed into lockers, idolising over made up characters, crying in bathrooms over that _one_ guy who just didn't notice you.

What would that matter once your heart ceased to be beat and you were simply a decomposing pile of flesh?

"Arthur-kun are you okay?" A japanese student asked with a worried tone. If he had friends, Kiku Honda would probably be the first on the list.

"Yeah Artie you were spacin'…didja get high?" If he had friends. Alfred F. Jones would be last on the list.

"Yes, mon ami, seems as though you were day dreaming of what _this_ looked like in bed? I'd love to make that dream come true," Scratch that. Francis Bonnefoy names would be on the bottom. No. He wouldn't even be allowed to touch the list.

Alfred started shouting, defending his honour, and Arthur could only smile.

Even if it didn't reach his heart.

_2.) A job that slowly kills you_

After school, our agonistic protagonist, drove to work. He made sure to mentally curse the ever rising gas prices, complain about the slow driver in front of him, and leave his backpack in the car for the excuse he didn't have _time_ to do it, like everybody else on the planet.

"You are late."

"I am late."

His boss sighed, cursed in German, then walked away.

Arthur followed him into the kitchen, noting he needed to sweep that particular spot behind the counter that was still visible from a table because dust and grime isn't appetising.

He found the sink, and got started washing, finding a shallow peace in the practical way you clean a plate.

_Wet. Add Soap. Scrub. Rinse. Dry Off._

If only life had such a simple check list.

_Born. Live. Die._

That could easily fit everybody. But how bland did it seem?

Life gave you no promise of love, adventure, excitement. Life only guaranteed death.

"I see you still work here..darn," a friendly voice caused Alfred to turn around.

"Aw, you are still breathing? Darn." Alfred mocked automatically.

"Still as pleasant as ever I see."

"Still as creepy as ever I see," he repeated, bored at the shockingly daily occurrence.

"Smile, it is good for you," the creepy Russian left the room as his name was being called to help seat a couple up front.

Yes, life only guaranteed death. And he was dying ever so slowly.

_3.) Bruises that won't heal_.

He parked his car into the garage, and walked inside cautious not to wake up any of his family members.

He walked into his room, feeling the thin flooring beneath his feet. Arthur gathered some clothes and went to the bathroom attached to the room he was previously in. He stripped down bare, and laughed at his scars he hid so well. It varied from the angry red marks on his legs to the dull, faded nicks on his ivory stomach. Arthur turned on the shower, again laughing at the sharp blast of cold water that hit him. He stood still, not moving until it warmed up.

He had a ritual, and it seemed childish and meaningless, but he still did it anyway.

First he squirted the body wash into his left palm, rubbing his hands together until soapy bubbles formed. He bent down massaging his ankles, calves, thighs, stomach, arms, shoulder, and finally his back. Then he let water wash him off, turning around in slow circles.

After the clean part was done, he turned off the shower and turned on the bath mode, watching the water run out of a different faucet, then crouched down until he was sitting really close to it.

He reached towards the side of the tub and grabbed a handy-dandy woman's razor, snickering at the irony of the protective pad on it, it was made so they didn't get cuts.

That was exactly what he wanted.

Today was an arm kind of day, and transfigured his arm as much as possible to reach as high up as he could. However, that was uncomfortable and he settled for it being a wrist kind of day.

The first slice was scary, and he almost felt something tighten in his heart.

The second cut was reliving, knowing he didn't cut to far or his blade wasn't dull or that it hurt more than he remembered.

The third, fourth, fifth slice upon his bleeding wrist felt great in its own way, a quick pinch then blood, marvellous blood from his body pooling towards his feet and running down the white tub, staining it pink. But it wasn't permanent.

He cleaned off his wrist, the sting of the water on the open wounds felt nice.

Oh, he loved those feelings. The feeling of being alive, of being human. Not being the numb shell of somebody who _was_, somebody who _did_.

And wasn't that the whole reason he did this?

Because he wanted to feel?

Sure those wounds would heal, but he had plenty of others that wouldn't.

_4.) You look so tired, unhappy_

"Dude, I know you are normally fucked up on _something_ but you seemed more depressed then normal lately," Alfred mentioned as they walked off the soccer field towards, well, where ever that tall blond git was leading him.

"I'm fine."

What was it recently? Arthur had been diagnosed with clinical depression when he was twelve years old and found boobs and cars exciting. He had been upgraded to a manic depressive when he turned fifteen. That was the year he really got into Voltaire and Wilde.

"Seriously though. We are all worried about you," Alfred continued, standing in front of his nice sports vehicle.

"Yes, I suppose that is all very nice. What plan of action are you considering taking on this grave matter?" Arthur absentmindedly asked while he searched for his own car in the school parking lot.

"We can take you out partying!"

"No thank you," Arthur walked away, heading towards his rusty mini van that had been passed down to him from his oldest brother and before that his grandma's.

As he buckled his seat belt he stared into the mirror that the car had.

His eyes looked dull and lifeless, his hair looked shaggy and lacklustre, he tried to give himself the happy go lucky grin Alfred gave him. He stared at his chapped lips tugging upwards, twitching violently, but never managing to smile.

_5.) Bring down the government_

_They don't speak for us_

Arthur found the idea of representative democracy two parts stupid and three parts hilarious.

All the arguing over how _he_ turned out to be bad and _she_ never carried out her promises…

Well, they could all vote for what they wanted and they deserve what ever idiot they elect.

They caused the plague of foolishness.

Right?

But now that it effected him it was serious.

"-And so friends,students,colleagues, _human beings,_ I call for all of you to question.

Question the way we do things so mindlessly, wonder about the choices you make and the rules we except. Don't be a sheep blindly herded only to get _slaughtered, _be the ones to change the world! Because I know we can!"

Arthur sat down, smiling with what he hoped was a fierce look in his eyes.

"That was good," Kiku leaned over to whisper.

"Thanks."

The annoying albino kid stood up, clearing his throat and as he began his oral social studies report.

"-because I am awesome-government should be-annexed-"

Arthur really wasn't paying attention the words coming from the kids mouth, he just replayed the looks of respect to borderline admiration on the faces of the people in the classroom as he gave his speech.

_**Damn, I am a **_**good**_** actor**_.

_6.) I'll take a quiet life_

_A handshake of carbon monoxide_

_H_e imagined himself slipping away. Floating on a cloud of nothingness, breathing in the cleanest air. Only it wasn't air, it was something else, something better. He would be content, happy even. It would be quiet. He'd sip tea, Earl Grey with two sugar cubes and a dash of cream stirred with those red straws he adored so much.

He'd be laughing, it would be funny.

"Eh d'che bag, r' ya de'f too?"

He'd be surrounded by faeries with lustrous wings and sly smiles. They'd have smooth hair and legs. And unicorns with shiny coats and tails that flicked and changed colours like their horns,plus flying pale green creatures that are cuddly and warm and love _him_ and find _him_ interesting. But they wouldn't make much noise.

Yes, it would be quiet, peaceful, only soft murmurs that you can get away with at a library and the slurps of tea he'd be drinking.

" D'yah re'lise yah h've no friends c'use nob'dy lihkes y'u?" He heard the punches, he didn't feel them. No he felt nothing at all.

He wouldn't feel anything, just the impeccably soft cloud of nothingness and the warm cup he'd hold in his hand. He would be wearing nothing, and that would be okay, as if you went back in time and stole the apple before they could feast on its sinful taste. His magical companions wouldn't mind. They'd be content.

"Leave him alone, and dinner is ready," he heard a familiar voice, a motherly voice.

He didn't move, just sat in silence picturing death and life and everything.

He imagined himself slipping away.

_7.) No alarms and no surprises_

Arthur woke up to the annoying ringing of his alarm clock.

**Dink. Dink. Dink.**

The sound couldn't be justified with words, he rolled around trying to find it with his eyes closed, but instead found the ground with a thud, it wasn't a welcome host.

**Dink. Dink. Dink.**

He sat up slowly, trying not to get a headache in the first five minutes of consciousness because dealing with it all day wouldn't be very fun.

Opening his eyes he took in his surrounding, looking for the clock.

**Dink. Dink. Dink.**

He found it, effectively shutting it up by pulling the plug. "Good morning," he said to himself. Then he laughed.

After his gust of mirth he stood up, looking for his clothes and headed towards the shower because it seemed like an ankle kind of morning.

After he was dressed,cleaned, and his hair was conditioned, he went downstairs to find his backpack and maybe grab a breakfast.

He found his black school bag easily enough, then headed for the kitchen.

His brothers had already ate, the proof being the cereal bowls and half eaten pieces of toast on the table, and as he opened the fridge he discovered they had used all the milk too.

"Oh well, I'm not hungry anyway," his felt his belly growl in protest but he told it to shut up.

It listened.

As he drove to school the alarm clock song was stuck in his head, making the pounding headache thrash around to a different beat and grow worse.

**Dink. Dink. Dink.**

It wasn't his fault he was late, honestly.

He caught all the red lights and every single grandpa on the road.

**Dink. Dink. Dink.**

"You are late."

"I am late."

Was it just Arthur or was life painfully monotonous?

**Dink. Dink. Dink.**

_8.) Silent_

After he got home from school, Arthur just wanted quiet.

The alarm clock sound was out of his head, and the loud shouts from social studies were in the back of his overworked mind.

He closed his eyes and slouched down near the couch. Everything was peaceful, well, it was until he relaxed too much and _it _started again.

His eyes tightened at the memories, at the feelings, of embarrassment and shame and regret.

The flashbacks came back occasionally, they played flickers of events that caused bad feelings to arise.

He slid down further onto the couch, curling up.

He saw young Arthur getting beat up, blood trickling down his lip, which twitched at his attempt not to cry.

He saw baby Arthur standing alone, completely alone, nobody was there and the silence wasn't amiable or preferable. It was cold and cruel.

He saw another version of himself, everybody laughing.

"Well, do you ever read books?" He asked the class bully bravely as he was cornered.

"Do you ever brush your hair?"

They laughed because it was true, did he ever brush his hair?

"You need to fix your eyebrows," the bully continued, earning more sounds of amusement.

Arthur didn't want to cry, he just said nothing.

He was silent.

He opened his eyes, gasping.

No; he was present Arthur, and none of that mattered anymore.

He lived, he showed them! He sat up, breathing hard, looking around for a clock to focus on the ticking, for a remote to turn on the TV, anything that would make the silence dissolve into sounds of reassurance.

_9.) This is my final fit, my final belly-ache_

He turned around, letting the water rinse of the soapy bubbles, then switched the outlets for water. Today was a thigh day, and he moved around until the water ran down the area he planned on lacerating.

He grabbed the razor, it was a new one, the old one had gone dull yesterday, which wasn't fun to discover.

He pressed it down at the angle he knew well by now, the one that would give him the deepest cuts, the most delicious scars.

He laughed at the sharp pain, then he became somber with thought. What if he did that again? And again.

And again.

He would die, right? Cut his wrists and legs and bleed to death.

Wouldn't that be interesting? He would have no more _dullness_ no more _feigning_ joy, he would be dead. He wouldn't have to ride the cycle of flashbacks that reduced him to tears. He would no longer have to do anything.

His mom or his dad would walk up the stairs angry that he hadn't gone to school and they had to chit-chat with the principle for a while, and they would open the door and they would see Arthur, sprawled out in the tub, decked out it the pinkish water that was overflowing from the bathtub. They'd run over too see if he was still alive, if he was okay, or maybe they'd know, and just stand there in shock, thinking of all the times they'd left him, or yelled at him, or didn't defend him.

All those tiny nails they hammered into him until he was pinned against a chalk board, struggling to get free.

They wouldn't know that the reasons were purely selfish.

Arthur laughed, watching the red drops slid down the drain.

_10.) No alarms and no surprises_

He didn't remember waking up, just being here then being there. And that was okay with him. "Arthur, are you okay?" he turned his head and saw his mom first, she wasn't crying currently but she had bloodshot eyes and tears dried on her face.

"Yes ma'am," he said, trying to think of were he could be.

"Son, I'm glad you made it," then his dad left.

"Were am I?"

"The emergency room, Peter found you in your bathroom," his mom asked, sitting down.

So, his parents didn't find him, it wasn't the next day, and most importantly he wasn't dead.

Well, that was one thick bologna sandwich.

He turned his head away and noticed other people were in the room.

Alfred; with sharp blue eyes and a nervous aura. Kiku; with his calm demeanour and relaxed emotions. Francis; smirking sadly, as if he was watching a really ironic _1000 Ways To Die_. Also his boss, Ludwig and his boyfriend Feli, were there, sitting awkwardly in a corner like uninvited funeral guest. Lots of people were here, though strangely his brothers weren't.

"Where is my family?" Arthur asked them bluntly, hating how raspy and weak his voice sounded.

They stared at him.

"I dunno," Alfred said after a moment.

"But I'm really sorry I couldn't save you, I completely let you down as a hero," Alfred hung his head in sorrow.

"Does unrequited love hurt this much, mon ami?"

Kiku sat quietly, though it looked like he really wanted to say something.

"How long have you been hurting yourself this way?" he forgot his mom was in the room.

He contemplated telling them the truth.

"This was my first time."

She frowned.

"I'll never do it again."

She smiled.

And Arthur covered up his laughter with a cough.

_11.) Such a pretty house, such a pretty garden_

Arthur's foot connected to the black and white ball just in time to pass it towards Alfred.

The American hit it back harder, angling it so it would be more difficult to pass back.

"Are you feeling better?" The taller boy asked after masking his surprise when the ball was returned after a spectacular dive.

"Yes, much," Arthur smiled, his eyes growing bigger.

"That's great!" Alfred panted, running backwards to reach the ball in time before it lost its momentum.

"I suppose," the paler blond muttered, catching the ball in his hands after a particularly high kick.

"I win!" Alfred cheered, running up to hug the other boy, who was limp and unresponsive in this arms, but he must be embarrassed about hugging in public.

"Yes, you were good."

"You too," Alfred interjected.

The day was cool and cloudless. The blue sky looked like a picture, or something you see in a ridiculously perfect dream. Birds chirped away, high up in their nests. And the air smelt like summer, which was hard to explain but you could label it fresh, happy, crisp.

They walked closely together, hands giving phantom touches, caresses. They reached Alfred's car stood and turned to stand face to face.

"Stay safe," then Alfred leaned in really close and gave him an eskimo kiss.

It was silent. Then Alfred started laughing, because everything was perfect.

Arthur laughed too, because none of it mattered.

_12.) No alarms and no surprises please_

Yes, Arthur had a new shower routine.

Grab his clothes, strip, heat the water, lather up, clean himself.

Oh and _lock_ the door.

Especially before he brought the blade out.

Today felt like a stomach day, and he pressed his fingers over the faint scars, the ones that were almost healed.

He carefully lined up the razor, matching it with the already torn skin, so he could open those wounds again.

He made perfect lines, symmetrical.

He wanted to do more, but the blade was nearing the end of its career and he didn't want to get up and find another one.

He just wanted to sit and admire the dark red blood rolling down his belly, getting caught in his belly button, snaking down his waist. It contrasted so nicely with his pale skin.

Arthur laughed.

And everything was fine.

**Authors note**: based off the song No Surprises by Radiohead(I like the Regina Spektor cover more…) and depression.

When I get mad I take it out on Iggy :D

Tell me if it sucks ^.^

It kills me because it wasn't uploaded with multiples of three…but I live because it has 12 sections.

Sorry I failed at the accent part. XD

I know the grammar is bad(some parts are supposed to be), but if you see a mistake other than a misplaced **comma** or a raped **and **please let me know…

I have an idea for a sequel but let me know if you want one.

HarponMOO is out


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